


A New Comfort

by WholockHobbit88



Series: Little Sherlock and John [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ABDL, Adult baby, Age Play, Daddy!John, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, baby!Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5678389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WholockHobbit88/pseuds/WholockHobbit88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John accidentally destroys Sherlock's most treasured blankie, he tries his best to think of how to fix the mess before Sherlock finds out. When Sherlock does find in one of the worst ways possible, John struggles to repair the hurt. With Mrs. Hudson's help, John figures out something that might become even more meaningful to him than his old blankie was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Work had been relentless; over time shifts at the surgery, combined with endless running around the streets of London made John feel like he was dead on his feet. He enjoyed it all; if he didn't he would have thrown in the towel long ago. The surgery was enough work on its own without the detective work but he couldn't seem to give either up. That, combined with all that he had to do around the house made him feel completely weary.

John gathered dirty clothes from Sherlock's hamper, throwing them on top of John's to take down to the washing machine before going out to get some dinner. He carried the overly heavy basket down the hallway and paused at the sight of Sherlock in the kitchen, crouched over the microscope on the kitchen table. For all that Sherlock had grown in his caring and sensitivity to others, he was never going to be the kind of person who actually picked up after himself. Bits of green, black and orange unidentifiable materials were strung across the table and leaking onto the floor. It made John's ire rise; he had just cleaned the kitchen an hour ago and now it was destroyed.

"Glad to see you're enjoying the clean kitchen" John said, seething through clenched teeth.

"The kitchen isn't clean" Sherlock said, not even taking his eyes off of the microscope.

John's blood boiled; why did he even bother? Why did he even try to clean up this flat? He should just let Sherlock stew in his own filth until he melded with whatever nasty organic material he brought home next. "Well, it isn't anymore" John said sarcastically.

"You really should clean it once in a while, you know" Sherlock said annoyingly, looking up from his microscope to lift an eyebrow at John.

Unbelievable…. "Yeah, I really should…..you know, like I did this bloody morning!" John said but the irony was lost on Sherlock.

"There's really no reason to get so angry, John" Sherlock said in a tired voice. Yeah, thought John, as if he was the tired one…

"Suppose I'll have to work on that…..right about the time that I start inquiring about finding a new flat mate to replace the deceased one I took a bloody hammer to!" John said, slamming on the clothesbasket on the table in anger. He didn't know why he was so angry…Sherlock could just be so infuriating sometimes.

Sherlock ,at least, picked up on this. "John, you seem a bit uptight" he commented entirely too calmly.

"You think?" John asked with loathing.

"Perhaps you should have a drink or something" Sherlock supplied as if he was being of help. "It's also been roughly eight days since you last wore a nappy; long periods without one tend to make you cranky. Perhaps you should put one on. I'll also note that it's been almost two weeks since you last gave yourself sexual release and that definitely makes your more susceptible to angering easily."

John felt his blood boil; to actually seem to flare inside his veins. Sherlock was so unbelievable…so brilliant and such a right git sometimes. The reason he hadn't worn a nappy or had a good wank in so long was because he was so busy, something Sherlock seemed to take no notice of. Not that it was any of his business, not that he should have even noticed.

"Well, that's really lovely that you're so damn nosey in things that don't pertain to you" John said with every vestige of self-control. "But some of us have things to actually do. Now, I'm going to do the laundry and then get some take away. Try not to burn down the flat while I'm gone"

John picked up the basket and was almost out of the room when Sherlock said, "Pick up some milk while you're out"

John whipped around, gripping the sides of the basket hard, "Excuse me? What's wrong with your legs? You can just as easily go fetch it."

"Past experience tells me that if I don't get you'll just eventually get yourself so there's really no need. You'll want tea so you'll get the milk" Sherlock said in his self-absorbed little ass of a way what made John get even angrier.

"Get it your DAMN self!" John thundered, finally having had enough of it. "I've spent all day, my ONLY day off in three weeks cleaning this flat only to have you tear it up again. Get your milk you selfish little bastard!"

John marched out of the kitchen before the shocked Sherlock could speak again. He just kept propelling his feet and didn't stop until he reached the washing machine in Mrs. Hudson's flat, throwing the laundry in without even looking at it. He stuffed it all in, his vision tinted red from his anger before it began to taper off a bit. John set the washing machine to its cycle and then flew out the door to the street to cool off further.

He hadn't meant to get so angry at Sherlock; he really hadn't. And most of the time he didn't even care that much that Sherlock was messy; it was just the way that he was. He knew that part of him couldn't help it; he was already egocentric, combined with his littleness made it worse. And as infuriating as it was, maybe Sherlock had a point. He'd neglected many things since he'd been working. He hadn't been wearing nappies like he usually did and Sherlock wasn't being as little. And as far as the wanking was concerned, he probably had a valid point. John was used to having a pretty active dating life. Now that he and Sherlock were trying to be a 'couple' or whatever it was that they were, he hadn't had any sexual encounters in far too long. Which, was fine, it really was; Sherlock was nowhere near ready for that and neither was John. His stomach still squirmed when he thought about sharing a sexual experience with Sherlock. After all, he wasn't gay and it would all be completely new to him. That didn't mean that he wasn't excited about it or that he didn't think about it. He just had to rely much heavier on taking care of his own urges these days.

It was rare these days that John so completely lashed out at Sherlock and he didn't care for it. Even though he could be so infuriating, his anger burned quickly and was now mostly gone. He stopped by his and Sherlock's favorite Chinese restaurant to pick up some dinner and then headed home. Before walking up the stairs, John threw the wet clothes into the dryer and went to find Sherlock.

When John got back to their flat, he could hear the sound of the shower going and was surprised that Sherlock had torn himself away from the experiment that was still congealing on the table. John felt a pang of regret; he hoped that he hadn't hurt his feelings too terribly. It was very unusual for Sherlock to abandon an interesting experiment to attend to bodily needs.

Resigned that he couldn't do anything until Sherlock got out of the shower, John sat down and ate his dinner in front of the telly. When Sherlock still wasn't out of the bathroom by the time that John finished, he had to smile to himself a bit; maybe he wasn't the only one that needed a bit of extra 'shower time' to improve his mood. If it was the case, John would be glad; they both needed to tone things down a bit.

John walked back down to Mrs. Hudson's flat to retrieve the laundry and found the dryer in a state of alarm, smoke billowing from the machine. Groaning, thinking it was yet another thing he'd have to take time to try and fix (a lot of time probably because he wasn't that mechanically handy), he opened the dryer to get the clothes out before they could be damaged. Throwing the mass of half wet clothes into a basket, he could see something was wedged into the filter. Giving the item a firm tug, he was able to dislodge it and immediately his stomach sank.

In his hands were the remnants of Sherlock's very old, very cherished blankie. The silky edge of the blankie had gotten caught in the machine and started to burn. The blankie was unraveled, burned in places and almost completely ruined. As John clutched at the tatters of it, he almost felt like crying because he thought of how much Sherlock would cry when he found out. John had never washed the blankie for the very reason that it was so delicate; it must have gotten misplaced in Sherlock's clothes when he gathered them. John silently chastised himself; he wasn't paying attention. Why wasn't he paying attention? He was so bloody angry and annoyed he was carless…John felt guilt hit him hard. With the argument they just had, Sherlock might even think it was on purpose.

John held the blankie close to himself; he loved it because Sherlock loved it so much. John still remembered Sherlock telling him when he'd gotten it. The blankie had been given to Sherlock by his beloved grandmother when he was still in the hospital. His parents had wrapped him in it when they brought him home. Sherlock had loved his grandmother and had admitted he grieved terribly when she died when he was eight years old. The blankie was all he had of hers….and in one careless mistake, John had ruined it.

John felt his heart racing, his breath coming out fast and hard. He was panicking, actually panicking because of a blankie. It would have been funny if it wasn't so tragic. John looked around Mrs. Hudson's flat; she wasn't here now but maybe when she got back, she could help him fix it. John ran the tatters through his fingers…who was he kidding? There was no way the best seamstress in the world could fix it.

John could hear thumping in the flat above him and panicked further. He stuffed the blankie in with the rest of the clothes in the basket and carried it to his bedroom. With any luck, Sherlock wouldn't be little for a few days at least and he could figure out something to do about this.

Sherlock was back at his experiment when John came into the flat. He rushed past him, almost running to his bedroom with the basket like he was smuggling contraband. He closed the door behind him and dumped the clothes on the bed. Running his hands through his hair, he fought to think of something. There was nothing….absolutely nothing he could do….

"John?"

John whipped around as if he had been caught in the middle of committing a murder. Sherlock stood in his doorway, in clean pyjamas and dressing gown, freshly showered. He looked cautious and….worried. Damn…..he should have locked the door.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" John asked brusquely, making sure the pile of laundry didn't show the blankie. When he turned around Sherlock was still staring at him.

"I'm…sorry" Sherlock said, picking at the hem of his dressing gown nervously.

That made John stop short. "What?" he asked. Sherlock hardly ever apologized for anything, unless he was little.

"What you said…..you were right. I don't think of anyone but myself" Sherlock said regretfully. He looked down and didn't quite meet his eyes.

John felt his guilt increase; now Sherlock was genuinely apologizing. John had ruined his blankie, called him selfish and he was apologizing… "That was unfair of me…I didn't mean that" John said quickly.

"No, it's okay" Sherlock protested. "I know I'm like that, a lot of time. I get absorbed in what I'm doing and I'm rude and uncaring to everyone around me. I usually don't care; but when it's you I do care. I care about you, John and I don't want to seem ungrateful. I'm sorry."

John couldn't feel worse; it was the most heartfelt apology he had ever heard from adult Sherlock. "I'm sorry too" John said. "I shouldn't have yelled."

Sherlock smiled. "Good…..I hate it when we argue" he said honestly. He crossed the room and John felt himself tense, somehow sure that Sherlock would sense the frazzled body of his blankie dying on the bed behind him.

"W-what are you doing?" John asked as Sherlock came closer to him.

Sherlock laughed. "Look who's so jumpy" he said. He came closer to John, putting his arms around him, hands on his hips, pulling him flush against him.

"I'm….I'm not jumpy" John argued even though he sounded jittery.

"I've neglected you a bit lately, haven't I?" Sherlock asked, raising a hand to brush John's hair back and rub his cheek.

Sherlock smelled sweet and clean and John felt a shudder run through him at the touch; it had been a while since Sherlock had touched him in any kind of way. "No….no….I'm alright" John lied, swallowing.

"It's okay, John." Sherlock said with a smile. He ran his fingers over John's ears and dear lord…..he didn't know why he liked it but he did. He went a bit weak in the knees. He opened his mouth to protest but Sherlock covered his mouth with his own, preventing him from saying anything.

John felt guilty; he honestly and truly did. Sherlock would be devastated when he found out what happened and he would blame John. John knew he should probably not take advantage of this but he couldn't help it. Sherlock was a man of rare passions and John was one who pretty much burned constantly. He had missed him. He knew Sherlock would be angry for a long time after he found out about the blankie and he selfishly let him have this while he could.

Sherlock's long, delicate fingers stroked his ears as his mouth consumed John's own. For a moment, John tried to fight it; when Sherlock's tongue prodded his mouth open, not so gently, he knew it was a lost cause. His fingers gripped through Sherlock's locks, eliciting a small gasp, one that spurned John on and made him lose all reason. All coherent thought went out of his head as all of his blood rushed away from his brain and to much lower regions. When Sherlock pushed him back onto the bed, John let him.

He could feel his body start to sail away, gearing up more and more toward the point of no return. John's lips fell to Sherlock's neck, nibbling and pulling in a way that he knew drove Sherlock crazy. As he gave Sherlock a particularly rough bite, he gasped, his hands knotting in John's jumper. He got dizzy, lost in the sensation of moving his tongue along Sherlock's skin when he felt Sherlock trying to tug his jumper off. He was so distracted by the hormones and the rush of possibilities that he wasn't even paying attention.

John could feel the change in Sherlock instantly. His whole body tensed, clenched; it was a somewhat normal reaction to intimacy with Sherlock thus far. He wasn't used to it so he pulled away sometimes. John thought maybe he saw where this was going if it continued. His eyes opened to find Sherlock on top of him, his face looking at something in horror.

"Sherlock…..what's wrong?" John asked. The look was too scared, too horrified to be a normal pull back from intimacy.

Sherlock slid off of John to come stand next to the bed and that's when John saw it; the remains of Sherlock's blankie in his hands. That's when John felt the wet spot on the back of his shirt and remembered the laundry on his bed. They'd been moving so much on the bed and John hadn't been paying attention and now he felt everything falling.

"W-what?" Sherlock asked. He was holding the blankie in his hands like a dead puppy, his eyes, even his adult eyes, watering.

John was horrified; his stomach clenched and he could feel a sense of doom coming toward him. He would give anything to make the devastated look on Sherlock's face go away. He felt terrible; he'd let himself get carried away with his feelings and now he had no idea what to say; he hadn't had any time to prepare and now the moment was here.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry…..it was an accident" John said, his mouth suddenly dry as he tried to get it to work quickly. "It must have gotten mixed into your things. I didn't know it was in there and it got caught in the dryer."

"My….my….."Sherlock said, his voice breaking. He couldn't finish whatever he was trying to say, his eyes filled with water, his lip trembling. His hands shook as he tried to hold onto the tatters. John had never quite seen him so upset when he wasn't being little and it was horrible.

"I'm so sorry" John begged Sherlock to understand. "I'll try to get Mrs. Hudson to fix it"

John tried to reach out and take the blankie from Sherlock but he flinched back. With a look of betrayal and dangerously no words, Sherlock fled from the room, hold the shattered remains of his blankie tightly.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, John lay in bed, horribly alone. The flat was quite; too quiet. John could hear the rumble of traffic on the street below, the sound of a telly on in Mrs. Hudson's flat below muffled but there was no sound in his own flat. Sherlock had left hours ago; John tried to call him but he didn't answer and John didn't expect him to.

John stared at the small square of light from his window on the floor and wondered why he was even trying to sleep. It had been so long since he had attempted sleep without Sherlock that he knew it would be nearly impossible until he was flat out exhausted. He couldn't relax knowing Sherlock was both upset and not home.

John got out of bed, went to the kitchen and poured himself a drink, hoping to calm his nerves. He turned on the telly but left all of the lights off, still hoping for some sleep tonight. He sipped his drink, not even tasting it as he thought about the incident with Sherlock.

It was an honest-to-god mistake but that didn't stop John from feeling guilty about it. He'd felt bad the moment he'd realized and Sherlock's look of sheer betrayal made it worse. He felt as if Sherlock had entrusted him with something precious and he had wasted it; which in a sense he had. It was a mistake but that didn't stop it from being permanent and it didn't make it go away. He could never undo this no matter how hard he tried.

To some people, the idea that he should be up at 2am worrying about a blankie was ludicrous. But to John it wasn't; he knew it wasn't really about the blankie. It was about all that blankie meant to Sherlock. It had so much sentimental value because of it coming from his grandmother and for a lot of Sherlock's life, it was the only 'little' thing he had. Sherlock had told John about how his littleness was something that he had to hide for so long; while he lived with his family, his blankie was the only little item that he had. He slept with it every night from his childhood and teens, up to his adulthood, hiding it under the covers. It made him feel safe and secure and he was rarely without it when little. John felt a warm glow of fondness when he thought about the first time that he saw Sherlock little. It'd been by accident all those years ago; retrieving him for a client he'd accidently found Sherlock napping with a dummy in his mouth, clutching the blankie. It hadn't made sense to him at the time but it was the incident that had set all of this in motion. It was the first time he'd seen Sherlock little and thinking of it now almost made him hurt physically.

John finished his drink, his head swirling and feeling his emotions delightfully inhibited. He reclined on the couch, feeling sleepy for the first time. He found one of Sherlock's stuffed animals, an old tattered but loved elephant he called Mr. Earl Grey the Elephant, and cuddled it to his chest. It smelled like Sherlock's little side; milk and play dough and crayons. John found himself finally able to drift off to sleep.

…..

John woke up to rather abrupt sound of clanging and banging coming from the kitchen.

"Bloody hell!"

John heard the voice distantly mutter. It was Sherlock's voice even though the language was much more like his. Maybe he was wearing off on him after all this time…

John fought his way of sleep, opening his eyes and squinting at the light before sitting up and looking around. His head was slightly aching and he could feel the marks of slight dehydration on his system. Hearing the noise, he turned and found Sherlock in the kitchen. He was dressed in his scarf and coat as if going out, digging through the kitchen drawers for something, occasionally putting items in his pocket. John felt a rush of relief seeing him; all night he had worried that he wouldn't come home for some time. He was sure that he would resist John's apologies but John was just glad that he was here for him to apologize to.

John stood up and walked toward Sherlock. "Need help finding something?" he asked. He wasn't surprised when Sherlock jumped and flew around in alarm, his coat billowing out. As soon as his eyes met John's, Sherlock scowled.

"No" he said tartly, "I found everything I need" He pocketed one of John's more heavy-duty pocket knives which made him more than a little alarmed.

"Going out on a case?" John asked, hopeful.

"Yes" Sherlock said, avoiding John's face as he tried to run for the door.

"Well, wait for me to get dressed. I'll come with you" John said, eager for things to get back to normal.

Sherlock flushed slightly. "No…..I don't have time to wait for you." he said shortly.

John had to admit that it stung a little bit. Sherlock always wanted his help, even if it was just moral support, for cases. "Please, Sherlock. Let me come. Don't be mad at me" John begged.

"I'm not mad at you" Sherlock snapped, contradicting himself. "I'm just in a hurry."

"You do know I'm really sorry about what happened to your blanket" John said. "I really want to try and fix it." He tried to reach out for Sherlock's arm but he pulled back.

"I'm not mad!" Sherlock said angrily, "And I'm not upset. It was just a stupid blanket and it doesn't mean anything."

John sighed; it was even worse than if Sherlock just yelled at him. Denying his feelings was always so much worse with Sherlock. "It's not stupid" John said softly. "It means a lot to you and that's okay. I-"

Sherlock jumped away from John several feet, turning away from him in the doorway. "I'm on a case…..I don't have time to discuss this nonsense with you!" and without another word, he had fled down the stairs and out of the flat.

John felt terrible, even worse than he had before. Sherlock wasn't even just getting mad anymore; he was just shutting down. He didn't know what to do so he found himself wandering toward Sherlock's room. Sitting on Sherlock's unslept in bed was his old tore up blankie. John sat down on the bed and picked up the blankie. He tried not to think about Sherlock coming in here yesterday when he'd fled from John, holding it and crying alone. John gripped the blanket tightly; he just had to think of something.

"Hello? Hello?" Mrs. Hudson's voice called out through the quiet in his flat.

"I'm in here…..Sherlock's room" John said flatly. A moment later Mrs. Hudson came in, still in her dressing gown and looking as tired as John felt.

"Did you and Sherlock have a row? He blasted out of here something fierce" Mrs. Hudson said concerned.

John blew out a sigh. "Yeah…I'm afraid I really botched things up now" he admitted.

Mrs. Hudson sat on the bed beside him, giving in a motherly smile of encouragement. "It can't be all that bad. Not with everything you two have gotten through together." She encouraged.

John held out the blankie. "Well, this is what I did to Sherlock's favorite blankie" he said flatly.

Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh my….what happened?" she asked, trying to hide her worry.

"It got mixed in with the laundry" John said. "I didn't know it was in there and it wasn't supposed to be there. It got caught in the dryer and this is what happened. It's completely ruined and Sherlock's devastated. He won't even talk to me; I feel horrible"

"I'm sure he'll see it was an accident in time" Mrs. Hudson said. "Sherlock can't stay mad at you."

"Even so I feel awful" John said. "Sherlock's had this his whole life. It means a lot to him. I wish I could fix it."

"Well, maybe we can" Mrs. Hudson said, brightening.

"There's not enough of it left to mend" John said dejectedly.

"No…..it can't be a blanket again" Mrs. Hudson said cheerily. "But maybe we can make it something else special."

John smiled, feeling hope rise in him. "Really?"

Mrs. Hudson grinned. "Let's see what we can get into while Sherlock's out."

…..

Sherlock didn't return to the flat until late into the evening and John was anxiously pacing around the sitting room, unable to focus on anything. It had taken most of the day for Mrs. Hudson to do her improvements on the blankie but now that the waiting was over, worry was setting in. He had to anxiously wonder when Sherlock might come back, if he even came home tonight, and he was left consumed with wondering what Sherlock would think of what they had done. Hope sprang through John's chest; he hoped that he liked it. It was the only shot that they had.

John had nearly worn a hole in the carpet with his pacing by the time that Sherlock had returned home. He burst into the sitting room with his presence that seemed to take up the whole room. His clothes were unkempt and his hair disheveled but his face was bright and excited with the energy of having completed a case. It was as good a time to catch him as any.

Sherlock, noticing John, tried to walk quickly past him and into his bedroom but John stopped him. "Sherlock….wait" he said, jumping out into Sherlock's path to make it harder for him to ignore him. "I want to talk to you."

Sherlock's carefree, post-case bliss dissolved into anger. "I don't want to talk to you" Sherlock said curtly, trying to push past John.

John firmly planted himself in front of Sherlock. "I know you don't want to talk to me but we are going to talk about this" John said. "We can't just not talk about this. Now, I've said I was sorry and I know that can't fix what I did but I am trying to make it better. I know how much that blankie means to you even if you say it doesn't and I can't stand to see you in pain."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, not little but obviously upset by the mention of his blankie. "There is nothing that can be done for it" he said firmly and bravely as he could.

" I know it can't be what it was" John admitted. "But Mrs. Hudson and I tried to do our best to make it something great again."

Sherlock struggled to maintain a cool expression but interest lit up in his eyes. "What?" he asked as if he didn't care but he really did.

John felt his hope and anxiousness blossom in equal measure. "Come here…..I'll show you" he said, taking Sherlock's reluctant hand and leading him into his room where he had left their creation.

"I know it's not the same thing, but I hope it still means something to you" John said, picking it up off of the bed.

Through Mrs. Hudson's fantastic sewing skills they had transformed the tattered remains of Sherlock's blankie into something new. Using the pieces skillfully along with patches of Sherlock's favorite of John's jumpers, Mrs. Hudson had made a new patchwork blanket. It was John's oldest and favorite jumper, one Sherlock had tried to steal on many occasions to keep as a blankie and hide it in his bed. Now, he could keep it forever.

"I know it will never be like it was and I wish it could" John said honestly, holding the blanket out toward him. "But I hope that maybe you can come to like it one day. All the credit is due to Mrs. Hudson; she did the best she could. "

Sherlock took the new blanket in his hands, staring down at it but saying nothing. He stared for a long time, looking at the patches and making John's worry increase by the second. "I love you Sherlock, so much" John said after the long pause. "I just want to make things better between us."

Sherlock stared down at the blanket for what felt like an eternity before he looked up and met John's face. A second later, his arms were around John, hugging him tightly. John breathed a sigh of relief, feeling all of his worry wash away as he leaned into the most wanted touch. "I love you too, John" Sherlock said, an odd admittance as an adult. "And I love this blanket."

They hugged for a long moment before either one felt like releasing. Eventually Sherlock broke the contact and John released him, happy to see Sherlock gazing down at the blanket and running his hands along the patches of his old jumper. "This was your favorite jumper" Sherlock said, trying but failing to suppress the emotion in his voice.

"It was your favorite" John said. It wasn't important it was his favorite; it was a small price to pay to see Sherlock so happy.

…

John climbed into bed early that night; he was relaxed now that things were okay between him and Sherlock and he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. He and Sherlock had shared a nice dinner of Angelo's takeout before John had taken a shower and went to his room. He tried to read a book for a little while but his eyes were sagging and he was about to give up the effort when there was a knock at his bedroom door.

"Come in" John said, surprised that Sherlock had actually knocked; he usually just barged into the room at his leisure.

Sherlock came into the room, dressed in a t-shirt and pyjama pants; he was adult but John was smiling to see that he was dragging the blankie behind him clutched tightly in his fist. "Mind if I join you?" Sherlock said, hesitantly in his adult voice. Usually by the time at night Sherlock was acting little unless he was otherwise engaged but John still found it ironic that he seemed shy.

"You better join me" John said with a smile, taking his reading glasses off and pulling the covers back. Sherlock crawled eagerly into bed next to John, clutching the blankie with one hand and using the other to pull John close. He laid his head on John's shoulder and John smiled against the full head of curls that now lay close to his face. He had to surpass a sigh; last night sleeping alone had been so bleak. This was so much better.

"I shouldn't have gotten so angry at you. I just sort of lost my head at seeing it destroyed." Sherlock said after several minutes of silence. It was the closest thing to an apology that he was capable of giving John.

"That's okay" John said, just relived that it was over and eager to put the terrible accident behind him. "Everyone has something that they don't want to be without. Just because yours happens to be a blankie doesn't mean you should be less upset about it."

When John opened his eyes and looked down at Sherlock lying on his chest he saw that Sherlock was looking up at him from the spot. He was grinning up at John. "Of course it does…..its rubbish to be so upset over such a small thing." He said self-deprecatingly before he looked slyly at John. "And what would make John Watson crazy to lose?"

John smiled because Sherlock was so smug; he knew exactly what John would say. "I think you know genius" he teased.

Sherlock just continued to grin. "Maybe I don't" he tried to say proudly.

John scowled playfully but gave in. "You, you idiot" John said. "The only thing I really couldn't stand to lose is you"

Sherlock grinned before laying his head back down on John's chest. "Sentiment, John" he said, as though trying to chide him but it was weak at best.

John smiled in the dark, laying his head against Sherlock's. "Oh yeah, and you love it too"


End file.
